


A Driving Delay

by AnonymousDandelion



Series: We're On Our Own Side Prompt Fills [3]
Category: Good Omens (Radio), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Banter, Fluff, Footnotes, Humor, Kittens, M/M, Mentioned Warlock Dowling, Pretending-Not-To-Be-Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Prompt Fill, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Queen (Band) Lyrics, Sentient Bentley, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Tumblr Prompt, but not as much as the cat, we'reonourownside, wooos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:35:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27391318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousDandelion/pseuds/AnonymousDandelion
Summary: The kitten hissed.Crowley hissed back.The kitten looked mildly impressed. It hissed again.~ ~ ~OR: It's Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis's day off, and Crowley and Aziraphale have a concert to get to. But why is the Bentley refusing to start?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: We're On Our Own Side Prompt Fills [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1944763
Comments: 27
Kudos: 79
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	A Driving Delay

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this over a month ago, but forgot to post it and then it got lost amid Flufftober in my posting schedule. So, here it is now! I figure we can probably all use a little extra cuteness today.

The Bentley would not start.

Crowley muttered something unintelligible under his breath, kicked gently at the pedal, and tried to start the car for a second time.

The Bentley did not start.

This was unusual.

In the passenger seat, Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley. “The concert will be starting soon, won't it? Shouldn’t we be getting a wiggle on?”

“Yes, it is,” Crowley answered, kicking the pedal again with a bit more force, “and no, we should definitely not be _wiggling_ anywhere. Do I look like a snake to you?”

Being unsure which answer Crowley would find more aggravating, Aziraphale opted to simply refrain from answering that question. Instead, he suggested, “Shouldn’t we start driving, then? That is, feel free to take your time, of course, I don’t mean to rush you, it’s only—”

“I’m _trying_!” Crowley snapped, then regretted taking his frustration out on Aziraphale. With an apologetic grimace, he redirected said frustration at the target that properly deserved it: His car.

“Get going,” he told it, both verbally and through a form of communication that would not have been perceptible to a being born of flesh and blood.

The Bentley, despite being very capable of perceiving both forms of communication, still did not start.

Crowley glowered, then hesitated, considering his options. He could force the car to go, of course, if he set his mind to it; even the most feisty of 1926 automobiles[1] could not withstand the full power of a demonic will[2].

On the other hand, Crowley had had the Bentley for the better part of a century, and feistiness notwithstanding, never once had his car displayed even the slightest hint of unwillingness to start. Which suggested that there might possibly be some reason, of which Crowley was unaware, for this newfound noncompliance.

“What’s wrong?” he asked aloud.

Aziraphale glanced sideways. “Er… Crowley?”

“Not talking to you, sh.”

“Yes, but—”

Crowley held up a _Hang on, not right now_ hand. Aziraphale, wisely, said nothing more.

Unsurprisingly, the Bentley also said nothing, aside from continuing to blast out the lyrics of _Cool Cat_.

“Shut up and explain.” To emphasize his point, Crowley ejected the cassette that was currently in the tape player and picked out another one at random, not bothering to look at the case[3] to see what it was supposed to be[4].

“You’d better have a good reason for this,” he muttered, and placed the new tape (chosen strictly for appearances, Crowley knowing all too well that its contents were bound to be identical to those of its predecessor) in the car’s cassette player.

The cassette player made processing sounds for far longer than strictly necessary, as if the Bentley were trying to decide what music to play. Crowley waited, impatiently drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

Aziraphale opened his mouth. Crowley held up another _Hang on_ finger. The angel closed his mouth again, and joined Crowley in waiting, albeit with a bit more external patience.

Finally, with an uncharacteristically hesitant attitude, the car settled on a new song lyric.

_This flame that burns inside of me. I'm hearing secret harmonies._

Crowley looked at Aziraphale. “You didn’t bring any of your magic tricks with, did you?”

“No, I’m afraid not. I could do one anyway, if you’d like, though! All I need—”

“ _No_! This stupid automobile is quoting ‘A Kind of Magic’. I’m just trying to figure out what it’s talking about.”

Another long pause, then the Bentley sang out, _Look into my eyes and you'll see._

“What the Heaven are you on about?” Crowley asked.

The Bentley jumped to the middle of another track. _I feel so inarticulate._

Crowley could certainly sympathize with that, but they were going to be late for a concert, and he was not in the mood to be sympathetic. “Maybe you’d be more _articulate_ if you tried playing something other than Freddie Mercury,” he told his car.

That was a low blow, but he _was_ a demon, after all.

The cassette player gave a few annoyed clicks, then launched back into the opening bars of _Cool Cat_.

Crowley snorted. “No need to serenade me.”

Beside him, Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Er. Crowley? There’s—”

“Sorry, angel,” Crowley said, trying to keep his irritation with his car in check. “Bentley’s being a pain, won’t start driving, trying to tell me why. Or possibly just trying to be a pain. Can’t tell the difference.”

The music stopped entirely, clearly offended.

And in the sudden silence, coming from somewhere very close by, a thin but piercing caterwaul split the air.

~ ~ ~

“That’s what I wanted to tell you,” Aziraphale said. “I heard it before, while you were arguing with the car.”

Not bothering to answer, Crowley circled the Bentley for the third time, every sense alert. Again, he failed to spot any sign of the source of the sound — which repeated itself for a second time, then a third.

Crowley lay down on his belly to look underneath the car[5], with no more success.

“It almost sounds like it’s coming from inside the car,” Aziraphale said.

“Yeah, well, it’s not. We were just in there a moment ago.” Crowley stood up, clothing instantaneously clearing itself of road dirt.

Then he squinted at the Bentley, suddenly suspicious. “Hang on, actually you may be on to something.”

He snapped his fingers. The bonnet of the car popped open.

Demon and angel stepped forward, side by side, and peered into the Bentley’s engine area.

And stared at the small, brown-and-white cat curled comfortably atop the motor.

The kitten looked up, sat up, and gave them a long, slow blink.

Crowley did not blink back.

“ _What_ ,” he hissed out of the corner of his mouth, “ _do we do about this_?”

Aziraphale surveyed the situation. “I didn’t know animals could get inside the engine like that.”

“They’re not supposed to be able to,” Crowley said shortly.

“Ah.” The angel’s brow was faintly wrinkled; Crowley could just see the pages flipping through his head, Aziraphale doing an impromptu review of his massive mental library in the hopes of landing on a book that would provide guidance as to the most appropriate course of action in this sort of situation.

Then his face cleared, at least slightly. “Er. Here, kitty, kitty?” the angel tried, and extended a tentative finger towards the kitten.

The kitten bristled — abruptly and astonishingly expanding to approximately twice its (admittedly, still minuscule) size — and, in one shockingly fast motion, swiped a claw at Aziraphale, who jerked his hand back just in time to narrowly avoid being scratched.

Crowley reacted on instinct. Hardly an instant later, he’d flung himself in front of Aziraphale, teeth bared and every muscle poised to strike. Paying no mind to the angel’s background exclamations of, “Oh dear, _really_ , Crowley, I hardly think this is necessary…” the demon glared down at the tiny ball of fur seated in his car’s engine.

The kitten hissed.

Crowley hissed back.

The kitten looked mildly impressed[6]. It hissed again.

Again, Crowley echoed the statement. The initial, reflexive rush of protectiveness was beginning to abate, however, and with it was going his sense of self-assurance.

He sighed. Then he swore, as the absurdity of the fact that he was engaged in a hissing showdown with a tiny feline animal began to sink in.

The kitten’s left ear twitched; otherwise, it appeared quite unaffected by the demon’s expletives.

Aziraphale emerged from behind Crowley, appearing equally unruffled. “Now, now, dear,” he murmured, “do watch your language, please. There are children present.”

He sounded _amused_ , the bastard. Crowley stubbornly refused to share in the sentiment.

“I’m a demon,” he retorted, and added in a couple extra curse words just for effect. “I corrupt the youth.” Besides which… “What children?” he demanded, looking around and spotting no one within earshot below the age of thirty.

Aziraphale indicated the Bentley’s motor. Or rather, he indicated the creature _on_ said motor.

“What the—” Crowley bridled. "That’s no child!”

“I’m fairly certain it is too small to be an adult,” Aziraphale countered. “Therefore, it is a child. A feline child. Or perhaps better described as an adolescent?” The angel tipped his head, evidently considering. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about the feline life stages. But a youngster, at any rate.”

“Felines don’t count as children!” Crowley snarled. “And anyway—” He broke off, suddenly, powerfully, and belatedly struck by the realization that something about the look in the kitten’s eyes was very much reminiscent of the expression on the face of six-year-old Warlock Dowling[7] when he was caught red-handed doing something he was absolutely not supposed to do and decided he was not going to care one whit.

“Anyway,” Crowley finished, the wind gone from his sails, “everyone’s a youngster to us, aren’t they?”

Aziraphale smiled, still clearly finding the conversation entertaining, and Crowley was very much afraid that the twitch of the kitten’s whiskers meant that it was smiling too. And that was just not _fair._ One moment he’d been the one interceding between the two, defending Aziraphale against kitten assault; the next the two were conspiring together to make a fool of him?

Well, if Crowley thought about it too much, there was a chance he might come to the conclusion that he was the one making a fool of himself. But that was beside the point.

“It tried to hurt you,” he mumbled.

Aziraphale’s face softened, though the amusement did not entirely disappear. “And I appreciate your quick reflexes, dear, I really do. But I’m not hurt, am I?”

Crowley couldn’t really argue that point.

“And besides, I expect it was only startled. It was my fault, really. I ought to have asked permission first. One should never attempt to touch someone without their consent. I should have known better. I’m sure it didn’t mean to actually hurt me.”

Crowley sighed, and eyed the kitten. It eyed him back, then licked a paw, the picture of innocence.

He wasn’t fully convinced by Aziraphale’s interpretation of the kitten’s motives, but decided it wasn’t worth arguing that point either. There was, after all, a more pressing issue at hand, a more important question to return to. “Since you’re so knowledgeable about cats,” Crowley said sarcastically, “ _tell me what to do now_.”

Aziraphale looked dubious. “I’m afraid I’m not knowledgeable about cats at all, I can’t imagine what gave you that impression. Don’t they belong to your lot?”

“That’s Hellhounds you’re thinking of,” Crowley said drily.

“Oh. Well, but witches keep cats, don’t they?”

“Some do, some don’t[8]. Mostly for catching mice. Nothing to do with Hell either way. This one isn’t even black, for Satan’s sake.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said again. “I really did think cats were evil. I’ve read about it.”

“They are. But not Hell’s brand of evil. Just plain old evil.”

“Ah, I see.” Aziraphale nodded. “In that case, I suppose we ought to call animal control?”

“ _Not_ animal control!” Crowley hissed.

“You aren’t a snake today, dear. Animal control would be perfectly respectful. But come to think of it, the humane society is probably a better option anyway. I’m sure they’ll know what to do to find it a lovely home.”

Crowley grimaced. “We’re gonna miss our concert at this rate, angel.”

“I hope not, but if we do, I suppose it can’t be helped. We’ll just have to hope there will miraculously be tickets available to another concert on Francis and Ashtoreth’s next day off.”

Despite his best efforts, Crowley laughed. “It better not come to that, but if it does, we might just get lucky.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Could you show me how to use that phone in your car?”

~ ~ ~

By the time Aziraphale emerged from the Bentley, having finished talking to the humane society receptionist who answered the phone, he was frowning. It would have been difficult to keep frowning, however, at the scene that greeted him outside the car.

“I did ask,” Crowley said guiltily, yanking his hand back from the kitten he’d been stroking, which was busily occupied with purring in a fair imitation of the motor it was still sitting on.

The demon’s hand abruptly gone from its ears, the kitten stopped purring to meow a loud complaint.

Trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, Crowley ignored it pointedly. “So what did they say?” he asked Aziraphale.

After a brief moment of consideration, Aziraphale decided he was willing to play along with the pretense[9]. “They think it’s a feral cat.”

“Feral?” Crowley grinned. “I approve of feral.”

“Yes, I know, but that means they won’t take it in. They said it most likely wouldn’t be happy living with people. We can take it to a veterinarian to get it fixed, but then they’d just release it out here again.”

“Fixed? What’s that mean? Something’s wrong with it? Other than being a bastard, I mean.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Veterinarians are doctors, aren’t they? So fixing its health, I would assume. Does it seem sick to you?”

“No.[10]”

“Then, I imagine it doesn't need to be fixed.”

“Mhm. Then it should get out of my engine,” Crowley said. He removed his sunglasses, and gave the kitten a baleful stare. “Get out.”

The kitten licked a paw.

“ _Out_ , I said. We have places to be.”

The kitten licked another paw.

Crowley glowered. “I could just miracle you out of there, you know. Send you to a dog park. Don’t think you’d like that.”

He made no move to miracle the kitten to a dog park, nor to anywhere else.

The kitten twisted to lick a hind paw.

“Shoo,” Aziraphale tried.

The kitten licked its fourth and final paw, then returned to one of the front ones.

“That’s how you’re going to be, eh?” Crowley glared.

The kitten met his eyes, and glared back, while Aziraphale watched in bemusement.

Crowley had seldom met a creature that could match him in a staring contest. He had most certainly never _lost_ a staring contest.

He lost this one. Not because he needed to blink, of course, but because he ran out of patience.

Breaking their gazes, he turned again to Aziraphale for help. “We really are going to be late if we don’t get going now. Do we just give up?”

“I think—”

Crowley never got to find out what Aziraphale thought[11], because there was a thump, and the kitten was suddenly on the ground, looking very pleased with itself.

It blinked at them, long and slow, one last time, raised its tail high in a graceful wave, then turned and stalked off into the shadows.

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, who swallowed back a laugh and walked around to the passenger door of the Bentley. “I gather we had a small contrarian on our hands. We should have given up sooner.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, put his sunglasses back on, and joined the angel in the vehicle, refusing to give any acknowledgement when the music started up again with the smug lyric, _I told you so_.

The Bentley started with enthusiasm. Google Maps would have claimed they were a fifteen-minute drive from the concert hall; they made the trip in five, arriving in the auditorium just barely in time for the orchestra to finish tuning[12].

They spent a very pleasant afternoon, and when Brother Francis and Nanny Ashtoreth returned to the Dowling Estate that evening, both were in a palpably good mood (of which young Warlock took every advantage).

And if the very cool cat that the kitten would grow up to be went on to live a life that was, for a feral feline queen in London, quite miraculously long and prosperous, the Serpent of Eden wasn’t about to comment, and the former Guardian of the Eastern Gate had enough tact not to ask.

**Footnotes**

1 And the Bentley was undoubtedly by far the most feisty of 1926 automobiles — indeed, the most feisty of automobiles from any year.[return to text]

2 Probably not, anyway. Crowley had never set his full effort to trying to prevent the Bentley from persistently overwriting all the cassette tapes he left in the car for a fortnight or longer. He told himself this was because it wasn’t worth the trouble, and anyway, he did like Queen. In reality, it was because Crowley really, _really_ did not want to run the all-too-high risk of finding out that the Bentley’s powers of album corruption exceeded his own powers.[return to text]

3 These days he mostly tried to avoid looking at his cassette cases to see what they were supposed to be, because a) it was a waste of time and b) the knowledge could do nothing but set him up for disappointment.[return to text]

4 Best of Shostakovich.[return to text]

5 After sparing a quick miracle to ensure that no passersby would notice him, because he _did_ still have a modicum of pride.[return to text]

6 Even mildly impressing a kitten was a truly impressive achievement, if only Crowley had known it.[return to text]

7 Simultaneously sweet and satanic enough that there could be no question whatsoever that Warlock was the Antichrist — even if his powers hadn’t begun to manifest yet, and even if he was already beginning to display an early and regrettable tendency to be good at maths.[return to text]

8 Agnes Nutter was terribly allergic.[return to text]

9 For the time being, at least. Later on, Aziraphale may or may not have subtly teased Crowley with a highly unangelic degree of mercilessness.[return to text]

10 The kitten had, in fact, been in the early stages of Feline Immunodeficiency Virus. Crowley was certain enough that it was healthy, however, that the kitten abruptly _was_ in perfect health, all traces of FIV gone from its system, never to return.[return to text]

11 Neither did Aziraphale, who had not yet decided what he thought.[return to text]

12 The tuning had taken an exceptionally long time; pegs kept slipping, strings kept breaking, valves kept sticking, reeds kept cracking. The third cellist muttered that it was like the instruments were cursed, or possessed, or something. His stand partner rolled her eyes and told him not to be superstitious, it was obviously just the weather.[return to text]

**Author's Note:**

> Writing prompt, courtesy of [We’re On Our Own Side](https://we-are-on-our-own-side.tumblr.com/post/627203432598716416/this-weeks-prompt-is-kittens-remember-to-tag-the): KITTENS.
> 
> Disclaimers:
> 
>   * Do NOT pet feral cats, unless you are a 6000-year-old supernatural being.  
>  Actually, even if you are a 6000-year-old supernatural being, it’s probably best practice not to pet feral cats, but if you do, remember to ask for consent first.
>   * Crowley would like it to be known that he was only playing with the kitten because he was transcendentally bored and there was nothing else to do while Aziraphale was on the phone. Aziraphale would like it to be known that Crowley appeared to be very much enjoying playing with the kitten. The kitten agrees with Aziraphale. So does the Bentley.  
>  I leave you to draw your own conclusions as to whose testimony on this point is to be trusted.
>   * I know next to nothing about car anatomy in general, and nothing at all about 1926 Bentley anatomy in particular, and I have not the faintest idea how it is that cats are able to enter car engines. But I have personally witnessed it happening to a modern car, so why not to the Bentley?  
>  If you have any knowledge on these matters, however, please feel free to share!
> 

> 
> Queen songs referenced (which the Bentley used truly _horrendously_ out of context — Freddie Mercury rolled over in his unknown burial location — but in her defense, how exactly are you supposed to say “there’s a kitten in my engine” in Queen song lyrics?):
> 
>   * Cool Cat
>   * A Kind of Magic (relevant lyric: _This flame that burns inside of me. I'm hearing secret harmonies_ )
>   * You Take My Breath Away (relevant lyric: _Look into my eyes and you’ll see_ )
>   * Sheer Heart Attack (relevant lyric: _I feel so inarticulate_ )
>   * Pain Is So Close to Pleasure (relevant lyric: _I told you so_ )
> 

> 
> And finally, as always, thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed, any comments and/or kudos you may see fit to leave are always much appreciated, and hang in there in these stressful times.


End file.
